


Christening*

by orphan_account



Category: Last Exile
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new fleet of Urbanus ships is almost complete. All that's left is to give a tour to the Empress and christen the flagship.</p><p>Vincent/Sophia, three years post-series, established relationship. Dirty talk, shameless metaphors, light bondage.</p><p>(* There's no other accurate term that really worked in this context, but it's a word that wouldn't exist in world. Let's pretend that they have an equivalent, and I'm just providing a translation, yes? :P)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christening*

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tree00faery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree00faery/gifts).



The new Urbanus-class ships were nearly complete - a few more days and crews would begin to coalesce, move into quarters and begin to form those tight-knit bonds so necessary for a smoothly functioning ship. At the moment, though, Admiral Vincent Alzey's future flagship was quiet and empty. She wasn't really a ship, in his mind. She hadn't been christened. There'd been no bottle of champagne smashed against her side.

Against _his_ side was a very wonderful imperial bundle of skirts and corset. She had insisted that he give her a tour of the ship. She rarely stepped foot on warships anymore these days, and he'd been telling her about all the updates and changes to the new fleet for months, over coffee in the mornings and the late nights she slaved over legal reviews. She was looking around with barely-restrained elation.

"... Well, it certainly isn't the Silvana."

Vincent's smile faded and he sighed. "No, it's far cleaner and less likely to be staffed by-"

"Vince." That had earned him an elbow to the ribs. He winced, touching the spot.

"Sorry, old habit."

"Three year old habit," Sophia laughed, hand finding his.

Her laughter softened and ceased when they stepped foot onto the bridge. Her eyes danced over the white and gold surfaces, over the clocks and dials and every inch of a gleaming warship command. She let go of him, moved to the first officer's post, hand touching the brass intercom tube. It was different than the Silvana's - this one extended down from the ceiling - but it felt so familiar. So cool and smooth and comforting.

"I really wish-"

"I know," Vince said, watching with a faint frown. "It'd be wonderful to have you as my first officer. I once jokingly asked Alex if he'd trade."

Sophia laughed, but this time it was softer, more melancholy. "No time, and all my battles are on land and in words." She bowed her head, eyes closed. Her fingers traced over the metal in zig-zagging patterns. "... Can I have some time alone?"

"Of course." He looked over her before he left, his faint frown remaining in place until he was halfway towards the officers' quarters. He'd hoped- well, he'd hoped Sophia would follow him there, for some celebratory... 'christening'. But the trip had made her melancholy. He still, after three years spent serving her and two years spent by her side, didn't quite understand the younger woman.

It was a process, though. That's what Mad-Thane had told him the only time they'd both been drunk enough together in a room without Sophia in it for Vincent to even bring up the topic.

If only he could steal her away, kidnap her like some pirate-king. But that had been Alex's job, yeah? He was just her knight-errant, going off adventuring in the skies while she remained in her towers, running an entire world with a grace and ability that even he'd been surprised to see.

She-

The ship-wide intercom crackled to life. "Admiral Alzey, report from the bridge."

Sophia's voice sent shivers up his spine, even as it made his lips curl. He stopped dead in the hallway, looking up at the speaker. He couldn't respond to her from here, but he could listen just fine.

"Wind speed is at twenty-three knots, thirteen degrees from north. External temperature is just under sixty degrees fahrenheit. Internal temperature is..."

Here she trailed off. Maybe she was done? Maybe she couldn't locate the correct dial?

"... currently rising to temperatures exceeding propriety."

Vincent's cheeks flushed. No, she probably just couldn't make out the actual numbers on the dial - they were small. Hand-painted, perhaps unclearly. Maybe he should check that. She was just stating that it was a little warm inside the ship. A little... warm. He loosened his cravat. It was warm, wasn't it? Was the heating on?

"Recommended course of action to maintain temperature is to shed heavy outer layers, allowing direct external contact. If no response, will assume assent."

He simply stared at the speaker, mouth dropping slightly open, his fingers now clutching at the fabric at his throat. After a moment, there was a soft, long rustle.

 _She was stripping. On **his** bridge._

"Layer shedding stage one completed. Only light armor remains. Internal temperature continuing to rise; humidity levels also on the increase. Further layer shedding recommended. Cause expected to relate to position on bridge; may be localized. Will investigate further on own."

Maybe he should go to her. Maybe he should take her in his arms or- no, he'd sit in his command chair and- But he was frozen, flushed, erection straining against his jodhpurs. He couldn't move. He could only _listen_ , marvel at the smooth flow of words, the lack of hesitation despite the fact that she was no doubt removing her corset, at the very least, and also likely touching herself, sliding her hand across her belly, down down and down. He closed his eyes, listening for a sharp intake of breath, a little giggle, _anything_ to let him know what she was doing beyond her words. She was so good with words. _Fuck_ -

"Humidity reaching intolerable levels; cause of humidity spike localized to a lubricant leak amidship. Currently dispatching two to investigate."

And there was that gasp he'd been waiting for as she no doubt slid two slim fingers into herself.

He cursed himself for breathing so hard, wondering if he was missing faint slick sounds. He couldn't keep himself from panting, from groaning faintly, but he _could_ keep from touching himself, at least for the time being. He leaned against the wall to keep himself up.

Her voice was quivering and a little thin when she next spoke, but slightly louder. Was she holding on to the intercom pipe? Leaning against it while she stroked herself? "Report is, and I quote, 'Things are a little bit messy down here.' Have sent down a third in search of mechanism for controlling lubrication leak."

That little whimper that bordered on a squeal was her thumbing her clit. He _knew that sound_ and it made his cock twitch, made his thighs tense and his gloved hands squeeze into tight fists.

"Problem only increasing in scale. Dispatching a fourth-" that meant three fingers inside of her. One night, after she'd commented on the importance of gloved hands and bare hands in her life, he'd managed to wiggle nearly his entire fist inside of her, and it had made her nearly scream with pleasure. But on her own, three was her usual limit. He'd watched her slide her fingers in and out, wriggle them, curl them.

She'd stopped speaking, and all he could hear were breaths and gasps and whimpers and quiet moans. She made a few attempts to speak, managing at most single words like 'Report' and 'Containment' before cutting herself off with another soft cry. They rose and finally crested in a few sharp, high yelps, and then there was only breathing as she sagged against the intercom. And all the while, he stared at the speaker, eyes glazed, hands unmoving at his sides.

Until she breathed, "Admiral Alzey to the bridge, please. Admiral Alzey-"

And then he was running.

He regained his composure a few steps from the bridge, straightening his uniform and, after a moment's thought, undoing his cravat entirely. It was dangling from his hand when he finally stepped through that door, and saw her, leaning against that brass tube, naked except for her thin silk knee-high stockings and little red slippers, skin shining faintly with sweat and thighs gleaming.

"Officer Forrester?"

"I'm afraid I can't handle the problem entirely on my own, sir."

He crossed the space between them at a measured pace, looked her over, and managed a thoughtful hmm. He could play along at least for a few more moments, though he definitely didn't have her _way_ with _words_. "... I think I have a solution," he finally murmured, then took her upper arm in one gloved hand, tugged her closer, and kissed her.

She was eager to wrap her arms around him as her lips parted, but he stopped her, turned them so that she was pressed against the side of the hanging L-curve of the intercom tube. He bound her wrists to the shaft of the tube with his cravat, grinning at the startled and then pleased noises she made, and then stepped back. The bend in the tube was a little bit higher than head-height on her, designed for a taller man, so she was able to lean her head back against her hands as she waited. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, and she shifted her hips every few seconds.

He wanted to devour her, to kiss her all over, to suckle at her breasts, to run his hands over every inch of her skin. He wanted to be _inside_ of her as soon as possible, after that long drawn-out teasing. But he took his time, watching her grow more and more impatient and aroused, slowly undoing his belts, shrugging out of his uniform jacket (leaving behind a thin white undershirt), and unbuttoning his fly. He stayed otherwise fully clothed.

"A stop-gap measure seems to be in order, but let me assess the extent of the problem." He pulled the glove off of one hand, hoping she couldn't see how he was trembling. He stepped closer, slid his hand against her thigh, bent down to take one nipple into his mouth. Sophia whimpered, parting her legs just enough to let a few searching fingers in between.

She was slick and hot and ready, the pad of one of his fingers slipping into her almost without him realizing it. He may not have realized it, if she hadn't twitched and he hadn't seen her toes curl. He pulled his fingers back from her entrance after just a little experimental feel, instead focusing on massaging her clit. That produced far more obvious twitches. He glanced up and watched as her eyes closed and her lips parted. His tongue circled her areola twice before he nipped lightly, making her eyelids flutter and her back arch.

Fingers still moving, he kissed up her chest and throat, focusing on a little spot just under her jaw for a few long drawn out seconds. Then he pulled away, considering her for long enough that she opened her eyes again and met his gaze. She smiled and he blushed.

"I want you," Sophia murmured.

He turned red.

He freed himself more fully from his pants and then fished in his pocket for a lambskin condom. Thank god he'd planned on bringing her down to his quarters anyway (though she probably had one or two stashed somewhere in her dress - she always did). He rolled it on after sliding his cock against her twice for lubrication, then took hold of her waist. She nodded, and he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he guided her onto his length, hissing as she slid onto him easily. He shifted his hold on her, arms around her now instead of just his hands.

The position was hard to hold, but she loved that intercom post _so much_ -

The tube provided something to brace her against as he began to move, his thrusts short and slow at first more for his benefit than for hers. He was almost painfully aroused, and it took a few thrusts to adjust to having her around him and holding her up with his arms and hips. He had to ignore the kisses she planted all over his face until he was certain he had his balance.

And then he returned all of her haphazard kisses, met her squirming eagerness with faster and faster thrusts, stood strong as she ground against him, as her legs lost their grip every time he hit just the right angle. He could hear a faint creaking sound as they pushed harder and harder against the tube for support. The intercom wasn't appreciating the abuse, but he didn't care as long as it stayed put and he could push his empress against it and rest his forehead against it when he could barely hold his head up and his eyes were closed from concentrating.

It didn't last anywhere near as long as her drawn-out teasing over the intercom, with her already high from one orgasm already and him needing her so badly. He drove into her a few final times, losing rhythm and nearly pushing her off the curved metal surface. He caught her before they both tumbled, gripped her hips hard as he came, and somehow held her up entirely on his own as she arched her back from the tube and ground against him until she, too, was spasming. He groaned her name, whispered it, _whimpered_ it when it became too much, and finally, she too was finished. Shakily, he lifted her off of him and placed her back onto the ground. He managed to undo her hands before sinking to the floor, first sitting and then sprawling on the cold metal.

She joined him almost immediately, eyes glassy and lids heavy. Before completely collapsing at his side, though, she did pull his condom off of him, tie it loosely, and set it aside.

"Can I name her the Sophia?" Vince mumbled, staring at the ceiling of his bridge without quite seeing it.

"Too obvious," she replied, snuggling up against him and yawning.

"The Sex Kitten?"

"Really, now..."

"The Empress?"

Sophia didn't immediately object, and he smiled lazily. "Got a bottle of champagne in my quarters," he murmured. "We should make the christening more formal, yeah?"

"Oh, I think we did a pretty good job breaking her in already without needing to resort to alcohol," Sophia responded. "But sure. Later."

Vince smiled.


End file.
